


Finding what you didn't lose

by forestgreen



Category: Forever Knight
Genre: Antagonism, Last Knight Fix-it, M/M, Mental Link, Mind Control, Post Last Knight, References to Depression, Running Away, Vampires, Vampires being vampires, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 08:46:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8884516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestgreen/pseuds/forestgreen
Summary: LaCroix tensed and placed the glass of blood down carefully. "Are you going to keep throwing Divia's name at my face whenever I say something you don't agree with? An effective tactic, albeit more ruthless than I would have given you credit for. I'm proud of you, Nicholas."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astolat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/gifts).



The staff felt heavy in LaCroix's hands when Nicholas gave it to him. The wood twisted and coiled on itself catching the lights of the ceiling lamps at odd angles. The sharp, polished tip gleamed and it was easy to imagine how it would look, coated with blood, after piercing his son's heart. The wood groaned under the force of LaCroix's grip. 

Deep down he had always feared Nicholas's quest for a cure would end like this, that sooner or later the time would come when Nicholas would stop his asinine search for mortality and choose the faster, more expedient route to his goal: death. But not once had LaCroix imagined that Nicholas would ask _him_ to be the one to kill him.

His son looked at him, face filled with hope, and longing, and _faith_. "You are my closest friend," Nick beseeched. 

Under any other circumstances LaCroix would have laughed. It was so typical Nicholas. That he would ask this from LaCroix without thought or care to the cost. How could Nicholas even think him _capable_? Then again, it was like his son to overestimate the coldness of LaCroix's heart while underestimating its ruthlessness. 

"Damn you, Nicholas," he whispered, but there was no anger in his voice, just pain and resignation. 

Nicholas, face streaked with silent tears, gave him a wobbly smile and turned his back to him, kneeling over the still warm corpse of Dr. Lambert. LaCroix wanted to shake him, to demand for Nicholas to at least have the decency to look at him. Sentimental folly. 

It was for the best. LaCroix raised the staff with steady hands and stabbed Nicholas through the back, careful not to pierce the heart. Nicholas arched at the impact and a choked cry of pain escaped his lips before LaCroix let go of the staff and snapped his neck. Nicholas's arms and legs faltered and he fell over Dr. Lambert's body, like a badly staged reenactment of Romeo and Juliet. 

"Damn you, Nicholas," LaCroix repeated, and closed his eyes. "Damn you."

* * *

Tying up the loose ends before his departure was unpredictably easy. Nicholas's luggage was already packed, an indication that his son _had been_ prepared to leave that evening. It was reassuring. If Nicholas had been ready to move on, then his son's attachment to the doctor could not be as high as Nicholas's emotional outbreak led LaCroix to believe. Dr. Lambert had just had deplorable timing, as usual, and Nicholas, alas, his son had never known how to deal with guilt in a constructive way. 

LaCroix's eyes went to the doctor's corpse. He would need to get rid of it, and while making it disappear would be easy, he knew Nicholas would never forgive him if he dumped the mortal remains of Dr. Lambert in some dark hole where they could never be found. And for all that LaCroix had learned to live with Nicholas's resentment and accusations it was best not to add another item to the long list of his son's grievances.

He reached across his link to Don Constantine and ordered, « _Meet me at Nicholas's loft. Now._ »

Five minutes later the doorbell rang, surprising LaCroix. He didn't need the monitor to know that it was Don Constantine at the door. The link was practically throbbing with his nervousness. Odd. LaCroix had not expected the Don to refuse the request—LaCroix was his master after all—but it would be in Constantine's nature to make LaCroix wait longer than this, if only to show he too held power. 

He sent the elevator down and pressed the button to let Constantine in. 

"Thomas," LaCroix said, when the man walked in. "I'm glad you could come so soon."

"You didn't leave me much choice." Don Constantine stared at the bodies lying on the floor and a wave of apprehension flooded the link. "Is Detective Knight…?" he trailed off, searching LaCroix's expression with uncertainty.

LaCroix pursed his lips. "You are his brother. Can you not sense that Nicholas is alive?" 

"For all that I look like an old man, I'm still new to the vampire life," Constantine said. 

"I'm perfectly capable of remembering my children's ages, Thomas," LaCroix rebuked him. "Still, you are _my son_. I don't choose weaklings as children."

"We both know you didn't choose me," Constantine pointed out. "I called in a favor." 

LaCroix fixed him with an icy glare. "Really, Thomas? And knowing now what you know of me, do you truly believe a favor owed to a mortal would force my hand?" He opened the link, letting Constantine feel the darkness and power of LaCroix's blood. 

The Don shivered, but stood his ground. "Then why did you agree?" he asked.

"I found you a worthy son." 

Don Constantine's eyes skipped to Nicholas's body before he returned his attention to LaCroix. 

"Thomas, you of all people must understand the appeal of having a son fall into line without needing to rein him in," LaCroix answered the unvoiced question. "One troublesome child is more than enough for a lifetime, even an immortal one." 

Constantine's lips twitched with amusement and some of his apprehension faded. "True enough."

LaCroix squinted while he assessed Constantine. "I know we agreed that you, being who you are, didn't need much tutelage to adapt to your new life, but I did take the time to teach you the basics. You ought to be able to sense Nicholas."

"All I can sense is you," the Don admitted. "You spoke inside my mind." He seemed rattled by this.

"You knew I could do that. We discussed the consequences of my gift and how it would change you if you agreed to become one of mine," LaCroix reminded him.

"It never felt like that before," Constantine said.

"Like what?"

"Like I _had_ to obey you. Like I had no choice." He paused. "Like you were my _master_."

"I _am_ your master," LaCroix hissed.

"Yes, but until today, it was only a title, not… the truth." The link throbbed with unease and buried deep beneath it some traces of anger.

"Thomas." LaCroix sighed. "Titles have power. Would your people address you as _Don_ if you didn't have the power to back the title? Why are you scared?"

"I'm not," Don Constantine snapped. 

« _Don't lie to me,_ » LaCroix said, reinforcing the words with a mental command. "I can sense it." 

Don Constantine swallowed. "While I'm grateful for the gift of immortality, I cannot have you interfering with my business. I can't afford for my people to know that I answer to you. It's been a long time since I've had to answer to anyone but myself."

"What? Thirty years? Forty? Fifty maybe? That's not a long time, Thomas. That's barely the blink of an eye." LaCroix chuckled. "I called you because I needed your services, not to flaunt my power over you. I have no interest in interfering with your mortal affairs, as long as you know to keep immortal business out of it. I dislike it when the Enforcers take undue interest in my children." 

"My services?" Don Constantine asked, his nervousness fading at the mention of business. Very professional. 

"I intend to leave Toronto and take Nicholas with me, and I want to do it tonight. However, there has been a slight complication, which I think you'd be perfectly suited to iron out." LaCroix pressed his foot against Nicholas's prone body, pushing it away from Dr. Lambert's corpse. 

"I see," Don Constantine said. "You want me to make the body disappear." 

"If that was all I wanted, I wouldn't have bothered to summon you." LaCroix studied the drying track of tears on Nicholas's face. "Make it look like an accident. Clean. Nothing that can be tied back to Nicholas in any way. But she should be recognizable enough that her friends from the police department can identify her. Nicholas would want her to have a proper burial." 

"They will try to contact him," Don Constantine said. 

LaCroix shrugged, unconcerned. "Too bad Nicholas is not leaving a forward address."

"Hmm, I suppose."

"You don't seem too convinced."

Don Constantine wrinkled his nose, lips curling with displeasure. "It'd be _cleaner_ if they thought he was dead, too. Otherwise they will try to find him, forwarding address or not. And in my experience the police have a despicable tendency to become surprisingly resourceful when one least needs it. It is most inconvenient." 

"You have something in mind." LaCroix didn't even need to use the link. It was written on Constantine's face. 

"Car accident? Fire is a good forensic countermeasure, and if we use Nicholas's car and another body that resembles his, they will not question it too much. Police officers like clean, easy cases. Besides, I know a person or two who can help to keep them focus on the right track." 

"I trust your expertise. Do what needs to be done," LaCroix said. "I take it you won't need my help finding an appropriate substitute for Nicholas." He raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Don Constantine's lips quirked into a cruel smirk. "I haven't eaten yet. I'll keep my eyes open for the right candidate."

"Excellent." LaCroix sent a wave of approval through the link. "I shall leave it in your hands then. I'll contact you with instructions for Nicholas's belongings once things calm down."

Don Constantine inclined his head, pleased. "It'll be done." 

"I always liked intelligence in my children." LaCroix clapped Constantine on the shoulder. "I expect great things from you, Thomas."

"I won't disappoint you." 

"Of course not. You know better than that. Goodbye, Thomas. Keep an eye on Toronto for me." He hefted Nick's body and walked to the door. He paused at the threshold and added, "Oh, and Thomas, you have twenty years. Make sure you get an heir for the human side of your business before then. After that, you'll have to leave Toronto and move on. Is that clear?" 

"Yes, master."

* * *

LaCroix hesitated at the door to Nicholas's room. Sooner or later he would have to go in and pull out the wooden staff keeping Nicholas trapped on the verge of death. It wasn't like LaCroix to put off the inevitable, but he found himself reluctant to wake Nicholas knowing what would follow: the anger, the recrimination, the never-ending accusations. 

But if that was the price LaCroix had to pay to have his son alive, he would pay it. He would much rather have Nicholas alive to hate him than an eternity filled with the meaningless gratitude of a dead son. And yet he kept stalling, unwilling to resume his role as villain in Nicholas's life. 

Toronto had been good to them, and for a moment LaCroix had dared to believe that maybe there was a chance for the two of them to finally reconcile. After Divia, he had even thought that… well, obviously vampires, even those as old as he was, were not completely immune to the fallacy of hope. 

He didn't know what to expect, that was the problem, and LaCroix did not like to go into battle unprepared if he could avoid it. A hard-learned lesson from his days as a General in the Empire. This wasn't one of his typical disagreements with Nicholas. Those he knew how to deal with. 

Nicholas had asked to be _killed_. Never in eight centuries had that happened. Even in the depth of hate and despair Nicholas had always valued life.

LaCroix was at a loss. He didn't particularly care for the feeling. There was only one thing for him to do, and no matter how much it pained him to admit it, he needed… advice. 

"I told you this number was for emergencies only," Janette said, point-blank, after she picked up the phone on the fifth ring. 

"Je sais, ma chérie, but this qualifies as an emergency of sorts." It felt odd talking to Janette without being able to sense her thoughts. The link was there, but faint, and trying to follow it was like grasping at water. It kept slipping through his fingers.

"LaCroix, the last thing I want right now is to talk about Nicholas," Janette snapped. 

LaCroix blinked. "What makes you think that I—"

"It's been centuries since you and I have had a conversation that didn't somehow end up being about him," Janette said. "What he did, what he didn't do, where he is, where he is going, his questionable friends, his quest for mortality, his doubts. I'm sick and tired of it." 

LaCroix wanted to protest, but didn't, acknowledging that the instinctive urge to defend himself was as good as an admission of guilt.

Janette huffed in exasperation. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that." 

"Never apologize, Janette. It's unbecoming, especially when you have the upper hand," LaCroix lectured her. 

She chuckled. "I have missed you." 

"I have missed you, too," he surprised himself by admitting. "You should have come to visit me when you were in Toronto."

"Funny, isn't it?" Janette said in a pensive tone. "I went to you when I was having doubts about my immortality. I avoided Nicholas, fearing that if I went to him, he would convince me to join him in his quest to become human. And I didn't want to be convinced. I followed your advice like a good daughter. I left Toronto. I stayed as far away from Nicholas as I could. And I ended up a human anyway." She paused. 

LaCroix remained silent, knowing she wasn't done. 

"After I became mortal, I avoided you instead. I feared that if I went to you, you would convince me to become a vampire once more. And I didn't want to be convinced." She laughed, a broken sound devoid of any joy. "So I went to Nicholas… and I ended up a vampire anyway." 

"I hope you don't expect my commiseration," LaCroix inquired, alarmed. "Nicholas did the right thing by turning you back." 

Janette laughed again, and this time it sounded warmer. "I know you think so. You never made a secret of your opinion about humanity. It's my hypocrite of a brother I cannot stomach to think about. Well, not my brother any more, is he?"

"How are you doing, ma chérie?" LaCroix asked, all of a sudden painfully aware that he didn't know. Janette's thoughts and feelings had been an open book to him for over 1,000 years, but now, with their link all but gone, they were no longer his to peruse. 

"Why do you care? That wasn't the reason you called."

"But it should have been." LaCroix hoped that she would accept it for the apology it was. 

"I've had better centuries," she said. "But there's no point crying over spilled milk. What's done, is done. How does it go again? The best way out is always through. So, tell me, what did Nicholas do?" 

"I thought you didn't want to talk about him," LaCroix said, lips twitching in a smile.

"I don't, but you called, and we both know that it was to talk about him." Janette breathed out. "And if we don't, I'll spend the next days wondering what it was you wanted to tell me. And wondering. And wondering. Best get it out of the way so I can go back to _not_ thinking about him. I'm not sure if I'll be of any help, though. I'm much too angry at him to act as the voice of reason." 

"He…," LaCroix trailed off, unsure how to summarize all that had happened. Best to start with the core of the problem. "Dr. Lambert is dead." 

"Please tell me you didn't," Janette said, appalled. 

"I had nothing to do with it," LaCroix protested, offended by the suggestion. 

"Well, you can't blame me for thinking it. It wouldn't be the first time. Or the last." 

"I suppose I can't," LaCroix reluctantly admitted. "This time, however, the dubious honor of the doctor's early demise goes to Nicholas himself." 

"What?!" 

"Oui, ma chérie, c'est vrai." LaCroix closed his eyes, Nicholas's despair and desolation still vivid in his mind. "I was as surprised as you by that unexpected turn of events." 

"Why? Why would he—The cure," Janette gasped. "They were trying to recreate what happened between Robert and I. But surely Nicholas knew that…. I should have never gone to him." 

"It was Nicholas's choice, Janette. Nicholas's and the doctor's. You're not to blame." 

"Then why does it feel like it's my fault?" Janette asked.

"Remnants of your close encounter with humanity." LaCroix shrugged it off. "Human emotions are not rational. Better to do without." 

"Says the vampire that has spent centuries relentlessly pursuing his wayward son," Janette said, and sighed. "How is he doing?"

LaCroix hesitated. "I don't know," he admitted at last. "He is still asleep." 

"Asleep? Wait, he is sleeping? When did this happen?" Janette asked. 

"Some days ago." LaCroix shook his head, trying to dispel the memory. "Sleep might not be the right term. I used a stake. Close enough to that heart that he won't be able to heal unless I remove it." His voice came out even, uncaring. A statement of simple facts. 

Janette audibly gasped. After a brief hesitation she said, "Care to tell me the parts of the story you're leaving out?" 

"He asked me to kill him," LaCroix said. "He asked _me_ to kill him!"

"Oh, Nicholas." Janette huffed out a breath that was half chuckled half sigh. "Surely he knew that you would never—of course he didn't."

LaCroix closed his eyes. Janette's understanding and acceptance of his actions a balm he hadn't known he needed. More than anything, the thing that haunted him the most was that Nicholas had thought him _capable_. 

"Nicholas, for all his intelligence, has never been particularly clever when it comes to family," Janette said. 

"Speaking from experience." It took him a moment to realize how callous the words were. He wished he could take them back. 

Janette's whispered "Yes" hung in the air between them, an echo of the ways in which Nicholas had betrayed her trust too. 

"You were right, my dear. Calling you to talk about this wasn't one of my brightest ideas," LaCroix said drily. 

"I don't think he will do it, if that's what you're afraid of," Janette pointed out.

"Do what?" 

"Kill himself," Janette clarified, and LaCroix tensed. 

He fought down the urge to lash out at her, taken aback by the realization that she was right. LaCroix was afraid. His reluctance to wake Nicholas up? His hesitation? It had never been about facing Nicholas's displeasure. What had stalled his hand was the fear that Nicholas would wake up only to walk into the sun. That was the reason why he had called Janette. He had needed her to say out loud what he couldn't admit even to himself. 

Strange how he, who feared nothing, could be such a coward when it came to his children: Divia, Nicholas, even Janette. 

"That was why you called, wasn't it?" Janette ventured, when it became evident that LaCroix was not going to reply. 

"No, of course not," he snarled. He took a deep, calming breath, and grudgingly conceded, "Yes. Probably. I don't know." LaCroix rubbed his face in defeat and asked, "What makes you sure that he won't… kill himself?" He had to force himself to spat the words. 

"His upbringing. His faith—"

LaCroix growled under his breath, a wave of rage capsizing him when he heard that word. Wasn't Nicholas's _faith_ what had brought them here, to this moment in time? Atonement and guilt, and the incomprehensible desire to please some god that had just been one among many when LaCroix had been mortal. 

"I know you don't think much of faith, LaCroix," Janette added, and he could hear the smile in her words. "I've spent centuries listening to your opinion on the subject. But it remains that Nick does believe, and in this case his faith will be your greatest ally. Catholics frown upon suicide." 

"He didn't seem all that reluctant to me, when he asked me to…." He stopped.

"But that's the point," Janette insisted. "He _asked_ , because he knew he could not do it himself. If you had killed him, it would not have been suicide. He would have died by your hands, not his own."

"At his request!" LaCroix snarled. 

"I didn't say it was rational, Lucien. Faith seldom is." Janette paused, and continued in a calmer tone, "You wanted my advice. This is it. He won't kill himself, but he will do his damn best to goad you into doing it for him. So, whatever you do when you wake him up, try not to play into his game."

"I don't—"

"You're not too rational yourself when it comes to Nick," Janette reminded him. "I know this is difficult for you to accept, but you need to yield in the things that don't matter so that you can win the things that do."

"I know about losing a battle so that you can win a war, Janette."

"Maybe when it comes to warfare," she said, "but I've yet to see you apply that knowledge when it comes to relationships. Let Nicholas be. If he wants to drink animal blood, pursue mortal hobbies, or befriend humans, let him. Let him. Don't lecture. Don't try to change his mind. Don't _kill_ his friends. Let him be." 

"I learned a thing or two in Toronto," LaCroix defended himself. "We were… coming to an understanding until… well, this." 

"Then keep up the good work." Janette sounded a tad too amused for LaCroix's liking. "He will get over the doctor's death." 

"Do you believe so?"

"I've seen Nicholas in love. _You've_ seen Nicholas in love. That wasn't it," she said. "I'm not saying he didn't care for Dr. Lambert, because I know he did. But he wasn't in love with her. _She_ was the one in love, not Nicholas. He might have liked to return her feelings, maybe he even convinced himself that he did. He's always been exceedingly good at lying to himself in matters of the heart."

"It doesn't change the outcome."

"You know it does. Not right now, but a few years from now? She just will be another friend he's lost, and after centuries on end of immortality loss is one thing we all get good at handling." 

LaCroix knew that it wasn't Nicholas she was talking about. "I'm sorry I never got to meet your Robert. He must have been a great man to conquer your heart so quickly. I wouldn't have minded adding him to the family." 

A faint wave of sadness and might-have-beens touched the link startling LaCroix. He had given up on sensing Janette's emotions. The strength of her feelings must be staggering to have reached him even that much. 

"I did offer," she confessed, "but he said no. He wanted to be there for his son. During the day as well as... for all the good it did him. He's not there now. At all. And I keep wondering that if I had insisted, he might still be here and… What does it matter? He's dead, and once again I'm not."

"You will heal, too," LaCroix offered.

"I know. That's what hurts the most." Janette's voice broke.

He could hear her futile attempts to stop the tears from coming and wanted to say something, anything, that would make it better, but comfort was one thing he'd never been good at. "Come to Scotland to live with us." The idea was not without its merits. "It will be like the old days." 

Janette's laugh was shaky, and much too close to tears for LaCroix's liking, but it was a laugh. "That's probably one of the worst idea you've ever had, and I've known you for a thousand years. Thank you, but no. Absolutely not. You get the dubious pleasure of Nick's company all to yourself. It'll take me decades to forgive him, and unlike you, I don't revel in confrontation." 

"Neither do I," LaCroix protested.

Janette chortled, a genuine sound this time. "A thousand years, Lucien. Nobody on this earth knows you better than I do." 

"Touché." Despite himself, his lips quirked into an answering smile. "Take as much as time as you need. The door is always open. If you ever need anything—"

"I know," she cut him off, sparing him the indignity of having to say aloud things that he usually relied on their link to convey. "Good luck with Nicholas. Au revior, Lucien." 

"Au revoir, ma chérie."

* * *

LaCroix walked up to Nicholas's room and sat at the edge of his son's bed. He ran his fingers through Nicholas's soft hair, something he had not been able to do in centuries, and traced the slack features of his face. He missed Nicholas. Even at their worst, Nick's presence in his mind had always been a constant, an angry hum of displeasure-anger-guilt pulsing at the edge of the link, letting LaCroix know that Nicholas was alive. 

Now there was only silence. 

With a swift jerk, he pulled the wooden staff out and threw it across the room. Nicholas flailed and his eyes opened, glowing gold with pain and hunger. The link came alive, a mass of anger and fear amalgamating into an overwhelming urge to attack and feed that erased all rational thought. Nicholas snarled and bared his fangs, jumping away from the bed and LaCroix. He tried to reach the door, but LaCroix blocked his path, forcing him to retreat farther into the room. 

The link was flooded with chaos and pain, and when LaCroix tried to prod deeper Nicholas growled at him and retreated further. The vampire was in complete control, instincts taking over as a result of Nicholas's close encounter with death. LaCroix took a tentative step further and Nicholas pressed himself against the wall, somehow aware that in his weakened state he was no match for LaCroix. He snarled again, and a wave of fear washed through the link.

LaCroix stopped advancing. Slowly, he released the cuff-links of his left wrist and folded the cuff up. Nicholas's golden eyes followed his every move, a soft, constant growl warning him to stay away. 

"I mean you no harm," LaCroix tried to reassure him, keeping his voice low and even, while projecting comfort and calm through the link. He bit into his own wrist until blood began to pour and offered it to Nicholas. "Drink."

Nicholas's nostrils flared and his gaze zeroed on the dripping blood, but he didn't come closer. His eyes darted from LaCroix's face to the door, before going back to the blood once again. Over and over. 

« _Drink!_ » LaCroix commanded, reinforcing the word with a mental push. 

Nicholas leapt at LaCroix and sent both of them tumbling. LaCroix grunted under the impact but didn't fight back, allowing Nicholas the illusion of control. Nick bit LaCroix's wrist with a snarl and tore at it in his thirst for blood. A rush of bliss went through the link with the first gulps, and LaCroix let the simple animal pleasure of hunger being satisfied sweep over him. He cradled Nicholas's head closer and plunged into his son's mind. The blood made it easier to assert his will, soothing the feral vampire in Nick. 

"Comme ça, mon fils," LaCroix comforted him, caressing Nick's hair. "Tout est bien. Ne pas avoir peur. Je suis ici."

Nick drank avidly, abandoning himself to instincts. Slowly, the intensity of the hunger began to ebb, and LaCroix sensed the first sluggish thoughts drifting in and out of Nick's conscious mind as he tried to fight the vampire off for control. After a while Nick pulled back from LaCroix's wrist and raised his head, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion. The golden glow of his eyes receded, giving way to their more natural blue. 

"LaCroix?" Nicholas blinked, absently licking the blood on his lips as his fangs retreated. "What—" he started to ask, and stopped. Realization dawned on him as the memories came rushing back and with them the overwhelming regret. It was all LaCroix could do not to close his mind to the onslaught of sorrow and guilt that followed. 

Nicholas shuddered visibly, and tears started to fall down his cheeks. "You didn't kill me," he whispered. 

"No, Nicholas, of course I didn't." The words came out sharper than LaCroix had intended. 

Nick glared at him. "Of course not," he spat. "Far be it from you to do the decent thing for once in your life." 

"Killing my own son? How is that the _decent_ thing to do?" 

Nicholas jerked himself free from LaCroix and stood up. "You tell me! You did it for Divia after all." 

The accusation struck him like a blow. He was unable to mask how the words cut him. With the link open, some of it must have echoed back to Nicholas, for he hurried to say, "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." 

In a dangerous, low voice LaCroix said, "Keep your apologies to yourself. I have no use for your guilt or your regrets. Save them for those mortal friends you keep on killing." He relished seeing Nicholas recoil. "If you want to die that desperately, do it yourself. I will not carry your death with me for the rest of eternity." 

He stomped away, not waiting for Nicholas's reply, aware that if he stayed in the room one more second their argument would turn violent. The door rattled in its frame as he slammed it shut, still livid with rage. How dare Nicholas use Divia against him? Of all the things—

He simmered with fury, barely unable to suppress the desire to go back and make Nicholas _truly pay_. With blood and tears and pain. It was hard to remember why he wanted Nicholas at his side, why he put himself through this again and again. Maybe Nicholas was right after all. Maybe it was time to let him go and move on. And yet … despite the anger, the thought of a life without Nicholas filled him with dread. 

He rummaged through the shelves in the kitchen, in need of a drink. A couple of minutes later he heard Nicholas's footsteps approaching quietly, but ignored them. He'd had enough of Nick for the day. 

"I truly am sorry," Nicholas murmured, coming to a stop within arm-length of LaCroix. "I should never have said that. I didn't mean it."

For an instant, LaCroix felt every one of his two thousand years. He hardened his heart before he turned to face Nicholas. "Yes, you did."

Nicholas didn't answer immediately, and a heavy silence filled the kitchen. LaCroix waited it out. 

"I'm just tired. Of trying… of failing… of being," Nicholas whispered, eyes lost in the distance. "You're right. Everyone dies around me, and I'm the only one to blame. I don't think I have the strength to start again." 

"Then don't." LaCroix stepped closer and grasped Nicholas's chin, raising it until their eyes met. "Stop running, Nicholas. It is exhausting. And after eight hundred years you must have realized that you can't outrun yourself. You're a vampire. Embrace it." 

"I can't." Silent tears ran down his cheeks.

"Ah, mon fils, why do you have to make everything so complicated?" LaCroix pulled Nicholas into a hug, and after a brief resistance, Nick gave in. 

Breath after breath, the tension left his body as he yielded, hiding his face on LaCroix's neck. "I'm not you; I can't stop caring." 

"I do care," LaCroix admitted, strengthening his hold on Nick. He wanted to say more. Instead, LaCroix caressed the back of Nick's head and let him cry for his loss. 

"We can stay here a while until you feel more like yourself. Take as much time as you need, Nicholas. Rest. Heal. It will work out." 

Nick didn't answer, but the link pulsed with acceptance and beneath it, resignation. It wasn't much, but it was just enough to build up. LaCroix placed a chaste kiss on the top of Nick's head, and dared to hope.

* * *

LaCroix should have known that it wouldn't be as easy as that. His son had never been an easy childe. Nick moved around the house like a ghost, when he bothered to move at all. Most days, he just sat next to the fireplace and wallowed in his misery. A week passed by, and he didn't talk, didn't eat, just sat there staring at the flames, doing nothing. 

It grated on LaCroix's nerves. He wanted to shake the apathy out of Nick. The more time passed, the closer he found himself to snapping, despite knowing that it would only play into Nicholas's preconceived notions of LaCroix. 

_'Yield in the things that don't matter so that you can win the things do.'_ Janette's words kept circling in his head. He knew he would have to be the one to make the first move. If the last eight hundred years had proven anything, it was that Nicholas could and would always out-stubborn him. 

He picked a bottle of bovine blood from the fridge and heated it until it reached the perfect temperature. He walked over to Nick's seat by the fireplace and offered him a mug. Trying to damp down his disgust from spilling over to Nick, he said, "It's cow." 

Nicholas didn't acknowledge him in any way.

LaCroix bit back a sigh and tried again. "It's been a week, Nicholas. You must be hungry by now. Drink." He pushed the mug into Nicholas's listless hand. 

Nicholas took the mug from him only to put it down on the floor. "I'm not hungry," he said dully.

"Drink it anyway," LaCroix insisted, picking the mug back up and offering it to Nicholas again. 

A ripple of annoyance traveled through the link as Nick stopped staring at the fire to face him. "I'm not hungry," he repeated slowly, a sharp edge to his words, refusing to take the blood. 

LaCroix clamped together the edges of the smug grin quivering at his lips. "I beg to differ. Sitting here day and night, drowning in self pity accomplishes nothing. You need to move on." He placed the mug on the side table, close enough to Nick that whiffs of the warm blood would reach him. 

"Easier said than done," Nick snarled, a hint of gold at the edges of his eyes. 

"Nicholas, life is a gift," LaCroix tried again. "Look around you; the world is a magnificent place. Could you ever have imagined that these humans you so love could have created such things and accomplished so much? We are witness to history." 

"And here I thought you were too busy torturing me to notice," Nick said. 

LaCroix reined his desire to retaliate. "Eight centuries together and it's only the torture you remember?" 

Nick turned away, staring at the fire once more. "It's unnatural, living this long. The price we pay is too high. I would have said no, had I known."

And yet he'd denied Janette the choice to die a human when she had it, but LaCroix was wise enough not to point the hypocrisy out. 

"And miss out from ever meeting Dr. Lambert?" LaCroix arched an eyebrow. "Maybe you didn't love her all that much."

Nick's eyes shone golden and his fangs came out. He slammed his fist against the side table, and the wood cracked. The mug tumbled with the force of the impact and rolled to the floor, spilling blood. The smell danced in the air, filling up the room with its intensity. 

For a moment Nick's mind pulsed with rage… and then, just as suddenly, the rage frizzled away and died, leaving just weariness. 

"What is it you want from me, LaCroix?" Nick breathed out, closing his eyes and letting his head rest on the back of the seat. 

"I don't want anything _from_ you, Nicholas," LaCroix said. "I'm just worried _about_ you." 

"Of course." Nick's voice sounded empty and dull again. He opened his eyes and stared at the spilled blood. "And as usual the only feelings that matter are yours."

"Don't be so melodramatic," LaCroix chastised him. "I'm not your enemy. Asking you to get out of that chair and… _do something_ can't be too much an imposition." 

"All right. What is it you want me to do then, Master?" He spat out the last word like a curse. 

"Eating would be a good start, but if you can't bother yourself with it, then at least try something else. Play the piano. Read a book. Play chess with me. Anything other than sitting there wasting away to nothing." 

"Fine. Let's play a game of chess," Nick said, and stood up. He walked to the table where the chess set stood and took his customary position behind the white pieces.

Surprised at the far too easy capitulation, LaCroix trailed slowly behind him. His brow creased as he tried to separate the turmoil of emotions cluttering the link. He took the black side of the board and studied his son's face while he waited for Nicholas to make the first move. 

Nick advanced his pawn two spaces, choosing a classic opening. Without thinking too much about it, LaCroix picked his right knight and moved it forward, preparing his defense. 

Nicholas toppled the white king with a lazy finger, knocking his bishop and a couple of pawns with it. "Game over. You won. You always win." He stood up and walked to the kitchen. On his way there, he trailed the fingers of his right hand over the keys of the piano, breaking the silence with a jumble of casual chords without rhythm or purpose. Without pausing, he continued to the fridge. He opened it and peered through the stacked bottles, picking one from the top shelf. 

LaCroix's bottles. Human. 

He pulled the cork out with his teeth and spat it out. It bounced across the room, rolling underneath one of the shelves. He sniffed at the blood and and gulped it down in long continuous swallows until it was empty. Then, he threw the bottle into the trash and turned to LaCroix. "Well, we've played chess. I played the piano. I ate. And now I'm going to my room to read a book. There, once more you've managed to save me from myself. Aren't you happy?" He climbed the stairs to his room without a backward glance.

LaCroix sat in front of the chess board and stared at the toppled white king for a long while, feeling as if he'd been the one bested.

* * *

Things didn't change much. Nick obeyed LaCroix with sluggish apathy, moving and drinking only when ordered to, like an automaton without a will of its own. Even Nick's anger was difficult to kindle. Time and again, LaCroix tried to provoke him into some kind of emotional response—even anger would be better than the utter empty _nothing_ coming through their link—but Nick didn't fight back. He yielded, letting LaCroix dictate his days and nights without protest: he drank human blood, sat in front of the piano and allowed his fingers to dance aimlessly over the keys when prompted, leafed through whatever book LaCroix gave him without actually reading any of them, and did his very best to perfectly comply with all of LaCroix's commands without fulfilling any of his wishes.

Days turned into weeks and by the turn of their first month living together, LaCroix was ready to kill someone. The only thing stopping him from slamming Nicholas against the wall and beating some kind of reaction out of him was the knowledge that it probably was what Nicholas wanted. 

Something needed to give. 

"I'm going hunting," LaCroix said, and watched Nicholas for a reaction. It had been meant as a jab to Nicholas's obtuse sensibilities but once the words were out, LaCroix realized that he meant them. He _needed_ to get away from Nicholas for a while and give his frustration a more productive outlet. 

"Good for you," Nicholas said, not bothering to look at him.

"You should come with me," LaCroix suggested, meanly, just to see if Nicholas was willing to continue his charade of mindless compliance when the stakes were higher. "Nothing like the thrill of a fresh kill to make everything seem better."

"No!" Nicholas recoiled and twitched, eyeing LaCroix with fearful eyes. The link pulsed with unease—the first emotion to cut through the thick layer of apathy dulling everyone of Nick's thoughts. 

LaCroix arched an eyebrow and smirked. "Relax, Nicholas." He huffed out a half-chuckle. "I wasn't actually expecting that you would join me, though it is good to know that your newly developed mindless obedience still has its boundaries. I was starting to wonder." 

A rush of anger mingled with the unease. Nick stood up and took a step towards LaCroix. He balled his hands into fists, visibly curbing the desire to leash out. "Enjoy your evening," he said through gritted teeth, and walked past LaCroix, shouldering him aside with barely contained violence. 

LaCroix's lips stretched into a wide smile as he watched Nick's retreating back. "I intend to, mon fils. I intend to."

* * *

LaCroix missed the city life. He'd picked the hunting cabin in the Highlands to stay in because it had been one of Nicholas's favorite places. It was the type of life Nick retreated to when things went south: a place far away from civilization, where he could get lost in his own mind and hunt for game.

A simple life.

A life LaCroix despised. He was a child of the city, used to the comforts of civilization and the decadence of wealth. Rome and Pompeii had shaped him: culture, sports, theater, science, prosperity. There had been centuries at times where he feared he'd never see the likes of a city like Rome again. He'd been wrong of course.

Edinburgh was not Rome, but it pulsed with noise and life. It smelled of humans and the faint acrid stench of pollution that had become as pervasive as horse manure used to be centuries earlier. The night air was filled with the hum of voices and the laughter of drunken youth out for fun. A far cry from the self-imposed quiet of the country life he had condemned himself to in his haste to provide Nicholas with some solace. Not that his son appreciated it.

He wandered around, no particular aim in sight, letting his feet take him where they would. Europe brought a nostalgia in him America seldom did. Something about its cities, the contrast between ancient structures rising alongside modern ones, like a mirror of his own life. Ancient, yet forced to reinvent himself anew and adapt.

If he concentrated, he could still remembered a time when Britain had been nothing more than another piece of land to conquer. Of course, for Rome the whole world had been nothing but a piece of land to conquer. He smiled, nostalgic. Ah, the hubris of the Empire. That he had lived long enough to see it fall.

A man brushed past him, startling LaCroix from his reverie. He watched the retreating back and grinned. Let the hunt begin. 

It was almost dawn when he flew back to the cabin, sated and content. His body still sang with the rush of the chase. The man's fear had been intoxicating. The wild beating of his heart, seized by terror, pumping blood even faster into LaCroix's mouth. Delicious.

He opened the door to the cabin and stepped inside, bracing himself for yet another day of Nicholas, in whatever form it came. 

His son was not there. LaCroix froze, and a knot of worry lodged itself in his throat: The sun would be rising soon. 

He sought Nicholas with his mind, trying to find him. The link flared to life, stronger than ever, powered by LaCroix's desperation. He sensed Nicholas, not as far away as LaCroix had initially feared. He concentrated and astonishingly could not only pinpoint Nicholas's location, he could actually _see_ through Nick's eyes, feel what his son felt. The emptiness in him. The lack of emotion. A void that swallowed everything it touched. Nicholas stood motionless at the shore of a small loch, watching a faint glow of red light cutting through the darkness in the horizon, sharpening the silhouette of the distant hills. The sun was rising and Nicholas contemplated its growing light and felt nothing.

« _No_ ,» LaCroix sent through the link. Nicholas startled, looking around, searching for him. « _Fly back to the cabin immediately!_ » LaCroix ordered, pouring every ounce of power he possessed into the command.

Against all hope, Nicholas obeyed.

He flew into the house and came to a stop in front of LaCroix. For a moment, the two of them faced each other silently.

"What was that?" Nicholas asked at last and blinked, as if waking up from a dream. 

"What did you think you were doing!" LaCroix snarled.

Through the link, still wide open, LaCroix sensed a distant stir of emotion starting to take shape inside Nick. 

"I asked first," Nicholas snapped, the overwhelming emptiness inside him fading as it filled with anger.

LaCroix welcomed it. Anger was better than the void. Anger LaCroix could work with. "And I want to know what you were thinking!" he hissed.

"I was not thinking! I just needed to get out. Out of these walls, and this house and this unlife!" Nick panted with fury. "What did you do to me?"

"Yes, Nicholas, please. Blame me for everything!"

Nick raised a hand to strike him, but LaCroix caught his fist and twisted savagely, forcing Nick onto his knees. « _Enough_!» LaCroix commanded through the link, willing Nicholas to stop struggling.

And Nicholas... did. 

LaCroix frowned, not understanding what had just happened. He glared at Nicholas and was surprised to see fear in his son's face. The realization rattled him and his concentration broke. He let go of Nicholas, who stumbled forward, catching himself on hands and knees. 

"Wh-what was that? What are you doing to me?" Nick's voice quivered, and he scrambled away, eying LaCroix distrustfully.

"Nothing," LaCroix said, puzzled. "I'm not doing anything." 

"Don't lie!" Nick accused, and stood up, visibly shaken. "You did something."

"I just asked you to stop your foolishness," LaCroix said.

Nick rubbed his hands over his face, as if trying to get rid of unwanted thoughts. "That wasn't a request. It was a command. One, I had no choice but to obey. How did you do that?"

"The link. I've done it before." But only while Nick was still a fledgling, before his vampire had become too strong to compel.

"Not for centuries, and even back then it didn't feel like this."

"Maybe you've weakened yourself with your appalling diet," LaCroix pointed out.

"I've been drinking human blood for weeks." Nick stepped closer, getting into LaCroix's personal space. His eyes glowed gold with anger. "What did you do to me?"

"You're being overly irrational, which is saying something, considering you were actually about to—"

"Do it again," Nick demanded, interrupting him.

"Do what?"

"Tell me to do something I don't want to do," he clarified.

"If you're to be believed that's the only thing I ever do," LaCroix deadpanned.

Nick crossed his arms and glared. "I mean it. Order me to do something you know I wouldn't want to do. Let's see if it was a fluke."

LaCroix frowned. The request felt like a trick. Some kind of test. Nick wanting to see what LaCroix would demand. Another way for Nick to grow angry, starting another useless cycle of accusations and heartbreak. He tried to come up with something harmless, something Nicholas could not use against him.

"Take off your shirt," he said after thinking about it. Nicholas had always been inexplicably prudish about his body.

Nicholas blinked. "Excuse me?"

"There," LaCroix said, more relieved that he cared to show. "It didn't work."

Nicholas leveled a withering look at him. "You weren't even trying."

"Fine," LaCroix drawled, and concentrated on the link: « _Take off your shirt._ » 

Nick stiffened and swallowed. Slowly, his hands went to the buttons of his shirt, fingers trembling. His breath came out in a harsh pant and his eyes widened as his fingers started to pull the first button open. The cloying taste of Nicholas's rising despair filled the link as Nick's will flapped uselessly against LaCroix's control like a trapped bird in the throes of death. So very easy to crush.

« _Stop_!» LaCroix took a step back, appalled.

Nicholas sprang away, pushing his back to the wall, as if the distance could protect him. His shirt hung loosely from one bare shoulder. "H-How long have you been able to do that?" His voice faltered. 

"I don't know," LaCroix confessed. 

Nick tilted his head and peered at LaCroix. "You're telling the truth."

"Of course I'm telling the truth!" LaCroix snapped. "This isn't—Nicholas, I would never use my power to make you…." He trailed off. "I'm not Divia." 

He remembered how it had felt, even two thousand years later it still felt much too fresh. The unwanted desire coming from his daughter, seeping through the link, eroding LaCroix's will. Foreign. _Wrong_. He'd felt trapped and powerless—a puppet for Divia to play with. His own feelings and emotions obliterated under her power. He'd needed her gone. Her influence. The absolute control she could exert over him. He'd needed to be free of it. So he'd killed her, or thought he had. Only to be proven wrong.

And now here he was—two thousand years later, Divia finally truly dead—doing to Nicholas what she had done to LaCroix. Nausea rose in him, and LaCroix did something he had seldom done in his long existence.

He fled.

* * *

## 

…Ten years later

He felt it at the edges of his awareness, a tickling, teasing presence that grew bolder with each passing minute: Nicholas.

LaCroix closed his eyes and sighed. For a moment, he contemplated escaping before Nicholas became aware of him. After a decade purposely avoiding his son, abandoning everything and moving on whenever he sensed Nicholas felt almost natural. Obviously, it wouldn't stop Nick from continuing his search, and LaCroix was tired of being on the run. He liked Seattle, liked the life he'd created for himself here. Ah, the irony! He wondered if Nicholas savored it and cursed it as much as LaCroix himself did.

He went over to the bar, picked a bottle of blood and poured himself a drink. If he was going to do this, he'd need the extra dose of strength. Dealing with Nicholas had always been exhausting, and LaCroix had no reason to believe that the last ten years would have changed his son much.

The rich taste danced over his tongue, filled with a myriad of emotions that rose and fell only to rise again as fear overtook the prey's mind. Not quite as good as being the one doing the hunting, but almost. Certainly better than the bland taste of donated blood, often plagued with the tedious reminiscing of the daily to-do's the donor still had to accomplish after they'd been released by the nurses.

LaCroix took his time savoring the drink, before finally allowing the link to open further, giving Nicholas enough of an echo to trace.

It didn't take long after that. He'd half expected Nicholas to crash through a window, forcing LaCroix to confront him, but instead Nicholas rang the bell. Not how LaCroix used to handle these things back when he was the one doing the chasing.

He considered not opening, wondering what Nicholas would do then, but curiosity got the better of him. It was time to find out what it was that Nicholas wanted from him. Warily, he went to the door and opened it.

Nicholas had changed, in as much as any of them ever did. He wore his hair differently, favoring the shorter style men did these days and he had a trimmed beard that highlighted his mouth and the edges of his jaw. It looked good on him.

"Nicholas, what a surprise," LaCroix said, aiming for nonchalance. "What brings you here?"

"Are you going to invite me in?" He seemed ill-at-ease.

LaCroix plastered a smile on his face and stepped aside. "You're always welcome in my home." He bowed his head slightly, gesturing Nicholas in.

"Really?" Nick didn't mask his skepticism. "Ten years avoiding me doesn't feel very welcoming." Still, he walked in.

"I've been busy, Nicholas," LaCroix said, and shut the door. "You can't fault me for that. How did you find me?"

Nicholas walked through the room, tracing his fingers over the furniture and studying LaCroix's living room with open curiosity. "I used to wonder that, too," he said absently. "There I was, barely settled into my new life, confident that this time I had managed to slip away from you, only to have you reappear and destroy it all when I was least expecting it."

"Is that why you are here?" LaCroix raised an eyebrow. "A bit of revenge for the sake of old times."

"No. Killing everyone you care about for the sake of making a point is not really my style."

"Ah, Nicholas, have you forgotten? I don't care about humans. If you wish to kill the few unfortunate enough to have met me, do let me know, I'd love to join you." He let the tip of his fangs drop slightly as he smiled, hoping the reminder would unnerve his son.

"I haven't forgotten anything," Nick said, crossing his arms protectively. The link rattled with a flash of unease, before Nick managed to block the emotion. "I just wanted to talk. You left rather abruptly last time."

LaCroix's smug smile fell. "You still haven't told me how you found me," he tried again.

"I took a leaf from your book and asked for outside help."

"Janette?" LaCroix guessed.

Nick shook his head. "She isn't talking to me."

"Ah, ungrateful children," LaCroix commiserated with mock-sympathy.

Nick snorted. "You would know." After a small pause he went on, "Why did you leave?"

"Really, Nicholas, has no one told you not look a gift horse in the mouth? You spent centuries trying to get me to leave you alone, and when I finally do…." He waved his hand vaguely in Nicholas's direction, pointing out the bizarreness of Nick's being here at all.

"I told myself the same thing," Nicholas admitted, pacing. "Countless times… but, when you left…. You were afraid."

A cold shiver went up LaCroix's spine. When it became clear that he wasn't going to say anything, Nick continued, "It took a me while to realize that the fear wasn't only mine, but yours, too. After all, the link goes both ways. You left even though dawn was approaching. That should have clued me in."

LaCroix crossed his arms and pursed his lips. "I was not afraid." 

"Yes, you were. And I want to know why."

LaCroix walked briskly past Nicholas, needing time and space to gather his wits. He picked up the empty glass from the dining room table and poured himself another drink. He sipped at it slowly, regretting not having left when there was still time. Obviously, he had underestimated what talking with Nicholas would be like. Time tended to dull memories, even immortal ones.

Nicholas followed after him at a leisured pace, inspecting the house with open curiosity, before turning his attention back to LaCroix. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm out of animal blood, I'm afraid. This one won't be to your taste." LaCroix swirled the glass, allowing the scent of human blood to fill the air.

"I quit it," Nick said, and shrugged. "What was the point? There's no out for me. No cure."

"Alas, it seems that Janette was right all those years," LaCroix said with a dry chuckle.

"About what?"

"She told me to let you be, that sooner or later you'd grow out of it. I didn't believe her." LaCroix plucked an empty glass from the bar and poured a second drink. "And yet, here you are. The moment I stop chasing you and leave you alone, you start drinking human blood." 

Nick took the proffered drink and smiled. "I was drinking it before you left," he reminded LaCroix.

"Ah, yes, but back then you were still too shaken by the recent death of your doctor friend to fight me on it. Ten years later, you don't have that excuse. Tell me, Nicholas, was I right? Did time heal your wounds? Or does it still hurt?"

Nick sipped at the blood and startled. His eyes glowed for a moment, before he managed to get himself under control. "This is not donated blood." He put the glass down.

"Ah, so you still retain _some_ scruples. I was starting to wonder." LaCroix's lips twitched.

"You killed the person." He looked as amusingly appalled as ever.

It was strangely comforting to learn that not all of his son's most egregious traits were gone.

"Not me personally, but somebody certainly did." LaCroix allowed his grin to grow. It was good to remind Nicholas that LaCroix had not changed much either. It might speed out his inevitable retreat. "I have a blander vintage, if you prefer."

"Yes, please." Nick surprised LaCroix with his easy acquiescence. 

He'd been expecting a bit more of the blame game Nicholas so liked. LaCroix selected a different bottle, took the stopper out and handed it to Nicholas together with a fresh glass. "There you go."

Nick poured for himself and sipped cautiously. "Thank you," he said, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. It hung there, between the two of them, all the times LaCroix would have used an opportunity such as this to betray Nicholas's trust.

They perched on barstools and drank quietly, each studying the other, but strangely enough the silence didn't feel uncomfortable. 

"You were right," Nick said at last. 

LaCroix inclined his head, acknowledging the statement. "I'm right about many things. What particular occasion are you referring to?"

Nick's smile had a sad edge to it. "Natalie. Toronto. It stopped hurting after a while. Sooner than I thought. Sooner than she deserved."

"Don't be so surprised. We're resilient creatures by nature. Immortality does not suit the weak of heart. They don't make it long, if they make it at all." He raised his glass in a silent toast and drank.

"I thought I loved her," Nicholas said. "I was wrong. I think accepting that hurt the most. She deserved better. I should have—"

"Ah, Nicholas," LaCroix sighed. "Don't you ever tire of shoulda's, coulda's, woulda's? What's done is done."

"What about you?" Nick sipped at his drink, watching LaCroix guardedly.

"Me?"

"Your shoulda's, coulda's, woulda's," Nick repeated, mocking LaCroix's tone. "Do you tire of them?"

LaCroix shrugged. "I don't have many of those." 

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "Divia?"

LaCroix tensed and placed the glass of blood down carefully. "Are you going to keep throwing Divia's name at my face whenever I say something you don't agree with? An effective tactic, albeit more ruthless than I would have given you credit for. I'm proud of you, Nicholas."

"It was the last thing you said to me: _I'm not Divia._ " Nicholas put his glass down, too, and leaned forward. "And then you left, and stayed gone far longer than I thought possible. It took me weeks to realize that you were not going to come back to the cabin, and years to understand that you were not going to come back at all. Ever."

LaCroix snorted. "Ever is too dramatic a word for a vampire. Sooner or later our paths would have crossed."

"But you would have preferred later," Nick stated. "And I want to know why. What happened that night, LaCroix?"

"You were there."

"And I still don't know why you left."

LaCroix leaned back, balancing his stool in two legs, and bit down the edges of a smile. "Ah, Nicholas, you and your penchant for impossible quests. Learn to let things be."

"Not this century." He looked determined. "You know better than most how stubborn I can be. Tell me."

"Nicholas, Nicholas," LaCroix sing-songed. "Always pursuing dangerous things heedless of the consequences." LaCroix closed his eyes and exhaled. « _Strip._ » He infused the command with a mental push. 

Nicholas stiffened and LaCroix ignored his useless attempts to fight the order. Fear built up in Nick slowly, growing with every passing second as the fingers of his hands started unbuttoning his shirt of their own accord. The link pulsed with it, cloying and sweet like molasses.

"Stop it," Nicholas gritted out.

"Now, Nicholas, you wanted me to show you." LaCroix grinned meanly, flashing his teeth. He took morbid pleasure in Nicholas's despair. "You needn't be afraid. Huh, why don't we turn that into an order, too?" He stood up and walked to Nicholas, stopping inches away from him. « _Don't be afraid._ »

He caught the thread of Nicholas's fear and plucked it, leaving emptiness behind. Not a refined way to use his powers. There were more subtle, inconspicuous ways—he'd experimented enough over the last years—but today wasn't about being subtle. He wanted Nicholas rattled. He wanted him to _understand_ the depth to which LaCroix could control and manipulate him if he chose.

He wanted Nicholas to run, to leave and stay gone. Safer that way.

"Stop," Nicholas said again, calm, at ease. Not a hint of fear in his voice, or his mind. And then, "Please. Tell me to stop."

"All right." LaCroix released his control and gestured casually, signaling compliance. He retreated a couple of steps, giving Nicholas space. His glass was almost empty so he took his time refilling it while Nick composed himself.

Nick's stool fell to the floor as he stumbled back, jumping away from LaCroix, as if distance would protect him. It would not. LaCroix had been thorough with his experiments. Controlling others, their emotions, their actions, even their dreams, it came easy to him. Distance didn't matter.

"Thank you," Nick said after a moment. He hadn't bothered buttoning up his shirt, and it dangled half-open, letting the white undershirt show. "That was… disturbing." He cleared his throat. "Are you still…?" he trailed off, waving his hand vaguely at LaCroix. "I feel off."

"Off?"

"Not afraid enough," he explained, and his nose wrinkled as he tried to gauge his own emotions. "Are you dampening my fear?"

"No, I'm not." LaCroix shrugged. "For what it's worth, you always had a regrettable tendency to not fear things you ought to have."

Nicholas lips twitched into a half-smile. He snorted. "There's that. And you stopped when I asked."

"I might not next time." LaCroix savored his drink.

"You will. You're not Divia," Nicholas said. He paused with a frown and his face sharpened with understanding. "That was _why_ you left. You were afraid you'd become her."

LaCroix stiffened. "You may think me a monster, Nicholas, but forcing myself upon those who do not desire me has never been one of my vices."

"Forcing yourself on—" Nicholas echoed, surprised. "LaCroix, I would never assume that…." He stopped, took a calming breath and went on, "For what it's worth, I know you wouldn't do something that heinous."

LaCroix stared at him disbelievingly. "You think me capable of anything."

"Not that. Never that," he said with total certainty. "LaCroix, you turned Janette so that she could avenge herself on the men that raped her."

"A passing fancy," LaCroix said, dismissing Nicholas's attempts to romanticize his deeds.

Nicholas's lips curled up. "Maybe, but I've seen you kill men that forced themselves on women before."

LaCroix laughed out loud. "Nicholas, we've known each other for centuries. You've seen me kill men and women and children. I even remember the one dog. Yours, wasn't it?"

Nicholas advanced on him, but tripped on the fallen barstool. He caught himself and cursed. Nick closed his eyes and battled his emotions down, trying to block them. "It's not going to work," he hissed. With deliberate care he picked up the stool and righted it. "You're not getting rid of me that easily. Stop trying to manipulate me."

"I'm obviously out of practice," LaCroix conceded. "I remember it being easier. Why, Nicholas, I think you've finally grown up. Will wonders never cease." He drank the rest of the blood and put the glass down on the bar counter. 

Nicholas didn't take the bait. "Why do you want me to leave so badly?"

"If I wanted you to leave, I would just order you to," LaCroix said, letting a hint of that threat travel through the link, reminding Nicholas of what he could do with it.

Nicholas stilled. When he spoke, his words were slow, measured. "Yes, you could. And yet you haven't. I find that telling."

"Do not push me. It never ends well for you," LaCroix said.

Nicholas shrugged, unconcerned. "It never ends well for those around me, but there's nobody. After Toronto and Natalie I accepted the truth. There's no redemption for me. There never was. Trying was… pointless." He chuckled self-deprecatingly. "Besides, I've been much too busy chasing after you to settle down and make new friends. I wanted to know what you were up to."

LaCroix snorted. "And what have you found out?"

"That chasing you around the world is frustrating, and challenging, and strangely addictive. I could not make myself stop."

"The running part is far less entertaining," LaCroix admitted, and they shared a knowing smile.

He'd forgotten this, how easy it was to talk to Nicholas, how sometimes the two of them fell into sync and the past and their differences faded to nothing, as if there had never been anything but camaraderie and good cheer between them.

LaCroix stared into the distance. "Divia's death changed me," he said at last. "I'm not talking feelings." He sneered when he said the word. "Her death _literally_ changed me. Physically. Mentally."

"The link," Nicholas gasped. He had always been quick in the uptake.

LaCroix gauged his reaction, but the fear he'd been dreading didn't come. Nicholas's thoughts whirled with worry—for LaCroix—and strangely enough, curiosity. "Not just the link." He glanced at the fireplace in the living room and willed it into life.

The wood went up in flames, crackling and hissing. Nicholas startled and lurched back, but after the initial fright his fear melted away. "I remember Divia doing something similar when she came to my place. How are you doing it?" And there it was again, that damned curiosity.

"I don't know," LaCroix confessed.

"You don't know?" Nicholas seemed almost offended.

LaCroix grinned. Nick had never been one to take things as they came. He had to poke at them until he found out everything there was to be found. LaCroix remembered with fondness his first centuries as a vampire, the passion with which he'd launched himself into his new life, wanting to know and learn everything there was. Yes, Nicholas's curiosity was a force of nature.

"It's not as if she left me an instruction manual," LaCroix said, amused. "As far as I've been able to figure out some part of her power transferred to me after her final death. Qa'Ra's power."

"The Sun God." Nicholas looked at the burning fireplace and back at LaCroix. "Technically, you're now the eldest of his line. What else can you do?"

"Command you to obey me," LaCroix reminded him.

"Of course." He sounded excited. "Does it work on other vampires not of our line?"

"Yes. You're taking this more smoothly than I assumed." 

Nicholas frowned. "What did you think I would do?"

"I don't know, Nicholas," LaCroix snapped, suddenly angry. He paced, unable to stay still. "I never know what you will do at any given time. That much _is_ clear."

"Don't leave," Nicholas said. "If I have to chase after you for another decade, I'm going to be very cross."

"Poetic justice," LaCroix muttered. "What is it you want from me?"

"I want to understand why you left. Yes, you now have Divia's powers, and maybe you could force me to do whatever it is you wanted, but surely that's no reason to leave. It's what you've always wanted."

"No, Nicholas, what I've always wanted is for you to do as I say because you understand that I'm right. I do not want to force my will upon yours and erase who you are. You are my son. If I want a puppet, I'll create a thrall," LaCroix snarled. "I would never use this power to make you love me, to force you into my bed, unwilling and disgusted and yet unable to say no. I am not her!"

"Wait… are you saying that you—" Nicholas's eyes widened. "Do you want me in your bed?"

"Come, Nicholas, don't play coy. You know perfectly well that I do," LaCroix said in a chilly tone. "You might like to pretend that the first centuries of your life as vampire never happened, erase your memories of the killings, and the bloodlust, and the sex. Find your _redemption_ ," he mocked. "But we both know what you did. You were there, sharing my blood and my bed. Lie to yourself if you must, but do not lie to me."

"It was Janette's bed," Nicholas pointed out. "She was the one that insisted on sharing."

LaCroix stared at him incredulously, and Nicholas had the grace to look away.

"I thought that you… that it was about her, for you too. Like it was for me." A turmoil of emotions, too convoluted to identify traveled through the link. It was one of the things about Nicholas that always fascinated LaCroix, the strength of his ability to feel, even after so many centuries.

"I know," LaCroix acknowledged, and shrugged. "You've always been uniquely talented at seeing only what you wish to see."

"That's not true," his son protested.

LaCroix half-choked on a chuckle. "And why pray tell did I abandon Janette to travel the world with you when you and she broke up? What lies did you tell yourself, Nicholas?"

"That I was your favorite," Nick mumbled, shaken, grasping for the first time hidden meanings of the word that had eluded him before.

"You still are." LaCroix moved closer, stepping into Nicholas's space. He leaned in and breathed the intoxicating scent, for once not bothering to smother the rush of desire it still managed to awake in him. "Why don't you leave, Nicholas?" LaCroix suggested. "You so like doing that."

Anger and frustration crashed across the link like waves on the shore, rising and retreating only to rise again. Nicholas pushed LaCroix away and sent him crashing against the nearest wall. One of the paintings hanging from it rattled and shook before falling to the floor; its wooden frame broke with a loud crack.

"Stop manipulating me," Nicholas snarled, pupils flashing gold.

LaCroix righted himself and straightened the lines of his shirt. "Then don't make it so easy," he said calmly, and slammed Nicholas against the dinning table. One of the legs gave under the force of the impact and the two of them tumbled and fell, LaCroix landing on top. He crowded Nicholas, not giving him time to recover and kissed him, pouring into it centuries of frustration and pent-up desire, opening the link so Nicholas could sense it. No point hiding it now.

Nicholas froze beneath him, and LaCroix's heart ached with bittersweet satisfaction. He pulled back and smirked down at his son, all too aware that he'd just burned whatever bridges might still exist between them. "Run along, Nicholas. You know you want to."

"No," Nicholas snarled. "No!" He grasped LaCroix's shirt and hauled him closer, taking him by surprise. Then, Nicholas kissed him.

It was LaCroix's turn to freeze, but it didn't last long. His lips met Nicholas's, matching anger with anger, hard and unyielding. His fangs dropped as the vampire overtook him, erasing the rigid lines around his self-control. LaCroix snarled as the rich taste of Nicholas's blood filled his mouth. Nicholas growled and pushed against him, and the two of them rolled off the broken table and onto the floor in a tangle of limbs.

LaCroix grabbed Nick's hair and yanked, exposing the long line of his throat. The link pulsed with hunger and desire, charged like a magnetic field that pulled them inexorably closer. He bit down and Nicholas arched into him, yielding. It had been centuries since the two of them indulged each other like this, but their bodies knew what to do, the vampire embrace second nature. Nicholas mouthed at LaCroix's face, brushing his fangs down LaCroix's cheek, and LaCroix twisted and turned, subconsciously obliging the silent request. Nicholas ran his fangs along the edge of his jaw until he reached LaCroix's throat and bit down, completing the circle.

They strained against each other, wild and unfettered. Rage and desire, frustration and longing, hate and love. A surge of conflicting emotions swamped LaCroix. He could not discern which were his and which Nicholas's. Under the onslaught of need it didn't seem to matter. This was the reason he always went back to Nicholas. The reason he forgave and tried again and again, despite the futility of his endeavors. How he had missed it.

They broke apart, panting, golden eyes met golden eyes, mouths gleaming red with blood. Nicholas's erection pressed against LaCroix's thigh, and the smell of precome rose in the air, mixing with the pungent scent of blood. 

"What are you playing at?" LaCroix gasped.

Nicholas closed his eyes, visibly fighting for control and panted against LaCroix's neck, licking at the trickling blood. "I'm not playing at anything," he said, and his eyes stopped glowing, returning to their natural blue. "I've missed you."

"That's the hunger talking."

"It's not the hunger," Nicholas disagreed. "I've missed _you_. Is that so hard to believe?"

"You spent centuries making it clear that you did not welcome my presence. Yes, I find this change of heart hard to believe." 

"You spent the last decade avoiding me as well," Nicholas pointed out. "Tell me, in that time, didn't you miss me? Even while you ran?"

"It's not the same," LaCroix protested.

"I wouldn't be so sure." Nicholas traced his fingers over the curve of LaCroix's lips and up his jaw to caress the shell of an ear. "I want this. It's not you making me, if that's what you fear."

"You won't have Janette as an excuse this time," LaCroix told him.

"So I won't," Nicholas acknowledged, and pushed himself up to kiss him. It was softer, more in control.

LaCroix's own response was cautious. He scrutinized the connection, needing to know that Nicholas was right—that this wasn't his own desire spilling over and overriding Nick's will. He did not trust this version of Nicholas. It wasn't like his son to—

"Stop brooding," Nicholas said, and bit LaCroix's bottom lip until he drew blood.

"That's rich, coming from you," LaCroix snorted. He bracketed Nick's face with his arms, trapping him with his body. "Are you sure, Nicholas?"

"Yes, I am," he said, and swallowed. The link pulsed with anticipation.

LaCroix wanted to ask again, but he let it go. _Carpe diem._ He wormed a hand between their bodies until he reached the bulge of Nicholas's erection and ground against it. Nicholas cursed and moved into the touch. His nails scratched at LaCroix's upper arms through the shirt. The light cotton tore. He froze at the sound. Nick's breath caught in his throat and his pupils widened.

LaCroix's lips stretched into a smug, predatory grin. "That was a mistake." He let go of Nick's cock and slowly, deliberately, moved his hand up until it caught the edge of Nick's undershirt. His fingers curled around it, crumpling it. Then he yanked it away and the seams ripped, no match for LaCroix's vampire strength.

A dam broke.

Nicholas retaliated, launching himself at him, clawing at LaCroix's slacks. They rolled around, wrestling for dominance, ripping and tearing each other's clothes off. They crashed against a shelf, wrenching one door off its hinges. The china inside rattled dangerously. One column of dishes tumbled over and fell to the floor, shattering against the hardwood with a deafening clash.

LaCroix laughed out loud, relishing the violence, and his eyes flared gold. Blood dripped from the gashes of torn flesh where nails had dug in. He snatched Nicholas's hair and wrenched him away, straddling him. He forced Nick's wrists together into a tight single-handed grip, grinding the bones against each other. The joints strained and cracked and Nick grunted in pain, but he continued fighting.

LaCroix ignoring him, letting Nicholas tire himself out. "Yield," he said, but Nicholas just increased his struggles. LaCroix grinned and held on. 

"Damn you," Nick cursed, trying uselessly to break free. After a while he finally gave up, slumping bonelessly against the floor. "Fine, you win. Again."

"Say you yield," LaCroix insisted uncharitably. 

Nick huffed, out of breath. "I yield."

"Better," LaCroix gloated. "Keep your hands there," he warned before letting go.

He mouthed his way down Nicholas's chest, scratching the skin with his fangs, lapping at the blood that welled up until the wounds knitted closed. Nick squirmed beneath him and moaned. LaCroix finished ripping off the last tattered remains of his shirt and paused, entranced by the sight.

 _Mine_ , he thought, as possessiveness rushed through him. Nicholas was his creation. His childe.

"Yes," Nicholas gasped, eyes bright gold. "Lucius."

LaCroix's breath hitched and his eyes darkened. He ran his nails down Nick's sides, scraping the skin, needing to retaliate lest Nicholas found out how much power he held over LaCroix when he used that name.

Nicholas arched up. "Now, now, please."

LaCroix pushed aside the half-torn denim of Nicholas's jeans and shoved down his boxers, squeezing Nick's cock tightly, making him flinch and gasp, "Bastard."

LaCroix laughed unrepentant. "Don't slander my ancestry, Nicholas. It's unbecoming."

He jerked Nick's cock with rough, uneven movements. His hand was too dry and it had to chafe but it didn't stop Nicholas from moving up into the touch. Nick's cock grew harder and precome leaked copiously, making everything slicker, hotter, easier. LaCroix humped at Nick's thigh, too caught in the moment to finish taking off his slacks. The angle was awkward and didn't offer him enough leverage. A part of him wanted to slow down, take his time, open Nicholas up and push inside of him, fill him up, but the bigger part could not think past the smell of blood and arousal, the feel of Nicholas's rocking into his hands, incoherent with need.

Nicholas hissed and froze for a moment before a scream tore through his throat and he shook violently. His hands grabbed LaCroix's head and pulled, yanking him closer. He sank his teeth into LaCroix's neck and sucked. The link flared with pleasure as Nick came apart, taking LaCroix over the edge with him. LaCroix bit down, closing the circle, losing himself in the taste of his childe.

They broke apart slowly, almost reluctantly, as the bloodlust receded and awareness trickled down. LaCroix peered around, taking in the room. The table was a lost cause. Pieces of china were scattered everywhere, some of them bloodied. One of the cabinets had been flung on its side and half its contents laid over the floor while the other half threatened to fall at any time, barely contained by the broken door. He closed his eyes and sighed in contentment.

"I wasn't expecting that," Nicholas said, half-dazed. The link thrummed with echoes of pleasure.

"If I had known it would end like this, I would have allowed you to catch me sooner."

Nicholas snickered. "I bet." He turned on his side and propped his head with a hand, glancing down at LaCroix. "What now?"

LaCroix arched an eyebrow. "A second round already? Greed becomes you."

Nick rolled his eyes. "I'm not talking about that."

"Pity."

Warily, Nick asked, "What do you want to do? About this? About us?"

LaCroix exhaled, exhausted all of a sudden. "It's your call, Nicholas," he said, and realized that it was the truth. "I'm done running, and I'm done chasing you. Do what you must."

"So, you're giving up on me?" Hurt quivered through their link.

"No, never." LaCroix paused, gathering his thoughts, needing Nicholas to understand. "I would have chased you around the world for as long as it took." He looked into Nicholas's eyes and opened the link slowly, letting Nicholas sense its power, ancient and dark. A power LaCroix was barely starting to grasp. "But that was before. Now, all it would take to make you to stay would be a single word." He smiled mirthlessly. "And I swore to myself I would not say it. So if you want to stay, stay. And if you want to leave, do so. Your choice, Nicholas."

Nick leaned down and brushed his lips over LaCroix's temple. "I can't promise you eternity, Lucius," he said. "But I want to try."

"Then we try. After all, Nicholas, time is on our side."

 

El Fin


End file.
